The General

Chapter 4.

​The dining room of the Smith household was a sanctuary of lace tablecloths, the heavy scent of rosemary chicken, and the suffocating warmth of a "perfect" family. Eliza Smith fluttered around the table like a nervous bird, her face flushed with the kind of pure, maternal joy that only comes when all her children are under one roof.

​"General Victor, please, sit," Eliza said, gesturing to the seat at the head of the table with a warm smile. She treated him with a quiet, grounded respect, sensing instinctively that he was a man who preferred steady ground over fuss. "Archer told me so much about your leadership. We are so honored to have you."

​"Thank you, Ma’am. The hospitality is appreciated," Victor replied. He sat, his posture so straight it made the dining chair look like a throne. He moved with a disciplined grace that felt out of place among the mismatched floral china.

The dinner proceeded with a warmth that felt, to Briar’s frustration, entirely genuine. There was no visible strain between Archer and Mallory; instead, they moved in a practiced, affectionate sync.

​Mallory leaned her head on Archer’s shoulder, her fingers tracing the seam of his sleeve.

"I missed you so much, Arch," she whispered, loud enough for the table to hear. "The house felt too big without you."

​Archer didn't look like a man forced into a performance. He beamed, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. "I’m back now, Mal. Not going anywhere for a while."

​Briar felt a sharp pang of isolation. She knew the secret they shared- the arrangement that allowed for others in their bed, but watching them, you’d never know. They looked like the poster couple for a homecoming. She reached for her water glass, her knuckles tight.

​"Briar, honey, you’ve hardly touched your potatoes," Eliza noted, placing a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. "Is everything alright? You’ve been so quiet."

​"Just taking it all in, Mom," Briar lied, forcing a smile. "It’s a lot of energy for one room."

​"It’s the energy of a happy home!" Mallory chimed in, her eyes bright and searching. She turned her attention to Briar, her tone shifting to something pityingly sweet. "I’m so sorry about you and Travis, Briar. I was telling Archer, it’s just a tragedy when someone doesn't value what they have. I couldn't imagine being in a relationship with anyone else but my Archer."

​The hypocrisy tasted worse than the rosemary chicken. Briar felt her bite rising, the sass she usually kept tucked behind her humble exterior clawing at her throat.

​"Is it a tragedy?" Briar asked, her voice dangerously thin. "I think the real tragedy is when people have different definitions of 'only.' I suppose some people are just more... flexible with their loyalty than I am."

​The table went still for a heartbeat. Archer cleared his throat, but he didn't look angry; he looked almost sympathetic toward his sister's rigidness. Mallory’s smile didn't falter, though her eyes sharpened.

​"Well, not everyone is as traditional as you, Bri," Mallory said, her voice like honey. "The world is complicated. Sometimes you have to be realistic to keep the love alive. Maybe if you were a bit more... understanding, things with Travis would have been different."

​Briar’s fork hit her plate with a sharp clack. "If 'understanding' means looking the other way while my fiancé is at the gym with someone else, then I’ll gladly stay misunderstood. I’m funny that way- I actually believe 'I do' means 'I only do' with you."

​"Briar!" Eliza said softly, a warning in her tone, though she looked mostly confused by the sudden heat.

​Victor, who had been eating in silent, disciplined rhythm, finally looked up. His icy blue eyes swept the table, landing on Briar. He was a man of the highest rank, a man who lived by a code that didn't allow for "flexible" definitions.

​"Tradition is often the only thing that survives a war," Victor said, his deep voice vibrating through the room. He didn't look at Archer or Mallory. He kept his gaze fixed on Briar. "Some call it being realistic to compromise. Others call it a lack of fortitude. It’s a matter of what a person is willing to settle for."

​Archer shifted, looking a bit sheepish under his superior's gaze.

"It works for us, sir," he said quietly.

​"As long as the mission is successful, Smith," Victor replied, though his tone was clipped. He turned back to Briar. "But a high standard is harder to maintain than a low one. It requires more strength."

​Briar felt a flush creep up her neck- not from anger this time, but from the weight of Victor's stare. He wasn't just observing; he was validating her.

​Mallory, sensing she was losing the floor, reached out and tried to pat Briar’s hand.

"We just want you to be happy, Bri. You’re so kind and sweet, but you're a bit naive about how much pressure a long-distance marriage takes. You shouldn't be so judgmental of things you haven't lived through."

​Briar pulled her hand away to reach for a dinner roll, her eyes flashing. "I’m not being judgmental, Mallory. I’m being selective. I’d rather be alone and know exactly who is in my heart than be in a room full of people and wonder who else is in theirs."

​The tension was a physical weight, but Eliza, ever the peace-keeper, clapped her hands together. "Well! Who wants dessert? I made a double-chocolate cake."

​"I’m always in for cake," Archer said, his silly grin returning as he squeezed Mallory’s waist.

​As the group moved toward the kitchen, Briar stayed behind for a second, catching her breath. Victor stood up, his massive frame towering over the table. He paused beside her, his presence a heavy, grounding force.

​"The highest position is often the loneliest, Miss Smith," he murmured, his voice so low only she could hear. "Because the view from the top doesn't allow for many people to stand beside you."

​He didn't wait for a response. He simply nodded and followed the others into the kitchen, leaving Briar standing in the quiet dining room, wondering if the "perfect" family dinner was actually the most honest meal she’d ever had.